My Body Doesn't Act Like It Did When I was 25. Or 30! Or 40! Or Even 50!

Mom used to call me Prince Rainier because she wanted me to “grow old with grace.� (You just dated yourself...ed. - One more time, YOU are Roger L. Simon's muse, why are you still here? Because you are more fun to pick on and Roger isn't any where near as funny...ed.) The reason this is important information is that I haven’t done so - grow old with grace that is. My body does not work the way it used to. I cannot any longer run a 6-minute mile, do 50 pushups, or play rugby for 6 hours straight. Of course, I never could do those things, but the truth remains that my body doesn’t work the way it did when I was young and in fairly decent shape.

The only thing I’m pushing now is 60. Ok, Ok! So I’m only going to be 59 next this year. (Sept. 20th for those of you dying of curiosity AND for those of you who feel the need to save up for a really spectacular b-day present – hint, hint. Arent' you embarrassed to grovel for gifts like that?...ed.) The truth of the matter is that my body is going wrong in places I didn’t even know I had places. Ahh me, the heart is willing, the body faileth ( what's with the stilted language? "faileth?"...ed. - Hey, I’m still King, I can write anyway I want to. --- Would you get on with it?...ed. – Enough of the kibitzing knave of a muse)

As I was saying before “ed.� interrupted, ummm, what was I saying? (You were saying the mind faileth…ed. – Grrrrr!) Oh, yes! The heart is willing but the body cooperate-ith not.

Last month a friend of mine had surgery in Reynosa, Mexico and a call came in saying that she had a need for two pints of blood. Another friend and I hopped into my four wheeled motorized conveyance (you mean car?...ed) and drove the 10 miles to Mexico and straight over to the hospital. There, we saw our friend, rather pale and not looking too good. The hospital didn’t have her blood type on hand, but would send us over to the blood bank if we were willing to donate. We were.

On arrival, the blood bank nurse told us that the doc ordered A+ blood and that our O+ wouldn’t do because of the type specified. I suggested that someone call the hospital and get an OK from the doc for O+, which they did (You mean to say you had a good Idea? I bet that came from someone else...ed.).

Again, fates decreed that nothing was going to be easy. Of the two of us and a third friend who met us there, only I could give blood because of hypertension in the other two friends (You probably gave it to them...ed.). Now, many of you may not know this, but US cell phones don’t work all that well in Mexico. So, having failed to be able to call someone while INSIDE the blood bank I stepped outside to make the call. I tripped, I stumbled, I ran ahead of myself trying not to fall (don't forget to tell them you looked like a jerk...ed).

Now, I’m sure that most of you have been in that predicament before, trying not to fall after a stumble or trip. But this was imperative. The street dropped down about 18 inches below the sidewalk and the cars were zooming by at a rapid clip. I wasn’t sure that a car would stop for the random gringo falling in front of it. So, I stuck my foot out and braced against the little curb sticking up over the sidewalk.

�SNAP� went the knee.

“Are you OK?� Asked Tom, “I thought you were going over for sure.�

“I’m all right,� I noted after checking out all my body parts. Knee - still bends, no pain; foot - still flexes, ankle ok; mental status-whoops, highly embarrassed (Who are you kidding, anyone that writes a blog can't be embarrassed by anything at any time...ed - I'm calling Roger!).

The next day on the other hand was a wowser. The knee was stiff, sore and difficult to walk on. “Just a mild sprain,� I thought. Not even much swelling.

When, two weeks later I was still limping I thought it time to see Doc C our family doc (Way to go Einstein...ed.). He listened to the grinding sound in the knee, he poked, he prodded, he twisted and he watched my grimacing. “Does it hurt when I push here?�

“Arrrrrggggggghhhhh,� I replied with a tiny bit of moisture in my eye. (More like a tablespoon of tears…ed - hush, you’ll embarrass me...We've been over that before...ed.) So, I got sent for an MRI, instructions to stay off my feet and to use crutches. (How does one use crutches when one is staying off of one’s feet?) and "Take these," he said, thrusting free samples in my direction.

Over at the hospital getting my leg and lower torso crammed into the MRI Tube I listened as the MRI made sounds like it was stripping a gear. Aren’t X-Rays supposed to be silent (Knowing that an MRI is not an X-Ray and that the sound is the sound of the magnets turning off and on...ed.)?

I got up and asked the tech what it looked like. I looked and because I have seen lots and lots of x-rays (usually my own) and being the nosey type always ask what this or that means and docs usually are willing to share their highly honed medical skills I said “Small tear in the meniscus, fluid build up in the joint and maybe the beginnings of arthritis.� The tech kindly looked at me and said, in the ("What, you think I’m going to diagnose and get my young butt in trouble?") voice said, you’ll really have to wait for the Doctor to read it. The report will be available tomorrow. Now, you may be wondering why would a licensed counselor be seeing X-rays let alone a lot of them. Well, you see, I'm kinda clumsy. Did I mention that? (No, you didn't MENTION that, but we can read between the lines...ed. - Oh go away!)

Sure enough, the next day the report came in and I was back at Dr. C’s office. “It looks like you have a torn meniscus, you have some fluid building up in the joint and the beginnings of arthritis,� said the thoroughly medically trained Doc. “Keep on the pills, stay on the crutches.�

New Appointment with an Orthopedic Surgeon for five days away. Now, I’m as resilient as the next guy, but I’m anxious about possibly having surgery, my knee hurts and now my armpits are sore as hell from the crutches. I’m beginning to think of going up to Detroit to see General Motors. After all, they do advertise "Bodies by Fisher" and I could sure use a functioning body.

Good news, the Surgeon doesn’t �think� I need surgery, pain killers – yes, physical therapy – yes, surgery – no! As I kind of twitch getting up off of the gurney like thingy the doc said “Was that your knee?�

“No� I said, “I’ve developed a sore spot on my right buttock, like a strained muscle.� (You've sure often enough given us a pain in the "buttock"...ed.)

“That’s probably what it really is. Soreness from compensating with your muscles on your right side has made your gluteus sore.�

Great, sore knee, sore armpits and now a sore butt. That’s the last time I volunteer to go to Mexico to give blood, the cost is just too high! Oh, and my friend who needed blood? She was out dancing in a week. My body just doesn’t act like it did when I was 25.